A Chain Is Only as Strong as Its Weakest Link
by AlternateUs
Summary: When Sherlock Holmes returns to John, John finds a slightly... different version of him standing on his doorstep. Three years without any sort of moral compass does things to you. Sherlock's first priority is to get Sebastian Moran and when they accidentally find a weak spot in him, he's tempted to use it. Dark!Sherlock, MorMor, parentlock, Empty House. T for bad rating
1. The Return Of Sherlock Holmes

John's shift was finally over. Lazily he took off his coat, grabbed his bag and spotted a free cab outside the hospital. He sped up his walking pace to catch the cab but nearly knocked a ginger-haired male nurse over. The nurse dropped some instruments but when John tried to help he quickly moved away leaving everything on the ground.

Odd.

John hailed another taxi and gave him the address.

15 minutes later the cab pulled out in front of his flat. John stepped outside and noticed a shiny new Lexus parked in front of it. The very likely owner of the car was leaning to the door, and John recognized him as the nurse previously. Strangely expensive car for a part-time nurse. The man took a cigarette out of his pocket and straightened himself.

"Got any light?" he asked. There was some strange familiarness in his dark voice but John decided to ignore it. John looked trough his pockets and found a lighter Mary had given to him as a piece of her engagement gift to her.

"Here, take this", John said handing the lighter to the man. Dyed hair, in his late 40s, not married or engaged. His body shape was hidden under a leather jacket and loose jeans but the man's face gave away his skinniness. The man kept looking at him for a while, then the lighter, and then back to John again with some strange coldness in his eyes before actually lightning the cigarette. Handing out the lighter back to John he asked, "Are you Dr. John Hamish Watson?"

"Yes, I am. Excuse me, who ar-...?" The last syllables were left hanging in the air when the realization hit the army man. His knees were just about to give in. "How do you know my middle name?"

It was not on the website. It only read in some of the most important papers and he never mentioned it to anyone. The man stepped closer, closer than John found himself comfortable with and smiled.

"I was once told to name my extremely unlikely child after it. Hello, John." The other man examined John's face closely - just like he had - expecting an emotion.

John felt a tear falling down from his eye and he shoved the man off.

"Go to hell", he limped - oh, fuck, he was _limping_ - to the door and started to find the right key. The ginger followed him and was talking but John didn't actually listen. He went in and glared at the other man one more time before slamming the door shut.

As soon as the door shut, John turned around and fell against it, crying.

He did not hallucinate. He had not, not for two years. Not since he moved.

So what was this, then?

The man did look like him.

I mean, if Sherlock had had a ginger hair. Why would it be _ginger_?

John had never pictured Sherlock with any other hair colour but his own. Why his mind was failing him now, after three years?

He opened the door again. The ginger - who had not moved an inch since the door closed - opened his mouth to say something but John cupped his face non-too-gently and pulled it closer, moving it from side to side to see better.

The eyes were the same. They had the same, measuring gaze they had always had. Could be imagined.

He was skinnier than he had ever seen him. His face sculpture was sharper and more visible than John could ever in world imagine him to be.

His skin was coloured with fake tan but underneath was skin that was paler than ever. He had some new small scars around his right eye and cheeks, and some poorly attached stitches in his forehead. Definitely not his imagination.

And he knew John's full name.

And he knew why Sherlock knows it.

Only him and Irene Adler knew the story.

"You actually are Sherlock Holmes." John fell to his knees and started recognizing signs of shock in himself. Sherlock walked past him inside.

"Now that that's over with, get up, we have work to do." Sherlock stated.


	2. Empty House

"Does the name 'Moran' ring a bell to you?" Sherlock asked over a teacup John had made for him. Luckily Mary wasn't at home, he didn't want to start explaining either her to him or him to her, not that Sherlock wouldn't know yet. They were sitting in the living room, John on the couch and Sherlock in the armchair, clearly not feeling himself comfortable.

"Do you mean colonel Sebastian Moran?" John asked, variedly. Sherlock gestured John to continue. "He was discharged from military eight or nine years ago. Went to working with the terrorists, shot half of his own men... I knew him for few years." he said roughly. Colonel Moran was not indeed his favourite person in the world.

"Also, he worked for Moriarty and wants me dead because I am alive and Jim is not." Sherlock added in a tone that could be understood as enthusiasm. John wondered it a minute before letting it go.

"For Moriarty?" "Yes, obviously. He's coming to Baker Street to kill me trough the window and it's our only change of getting him." Sherlock answered sounding irritated.

"Are we going to 221B?" "Why on Earth we'd go to 221B?" Sherlock asked irritated. "There's an abandoned flat opposite to it, we will be there waiting for him." Sherlock rose from the chair, leaving the cup on the armrest. He was put on his coat and grabbed his scarf. John leaped after him.

"When we're meeting?" he asked just to see that Sherlock had already left.

Two hours later John received a text.

_At 9 PM sharp._

_Meet Lestrade there, he's waiting outside._

_I'll be joining you a few minutes later. Explain everything to him. _

_SH_

John typed a response.

_What do I need to explain to him? -JW_

John waited 20 minutes for response before putting his phone back to his pocket. He had obviously asked a stupid question, or something unimportant Sherlock didn't feel like answering to.

He had been acting weirdly after his return. Or was he? He had always been ignorant and rude, but John didn't remember him like this. Maybe he had wanted to remember as a better man than he actually was. Maybe he wasn't the Sherlock he had missed for years. Perhaps the man who he had asked to stop being dead was a creation of his own imagination.

John shrugged the thought away before hopping to a cab. Sherlock had returned, the impossible was made possible, it was all that mattered. John was greeted with shocked Lestrade when he got out.

"John, Sherlock just called me and told me to get here. He's alive. John, he's actually ali-!"

"Yes, I know, we met earlier. Do you have any idea what he's planning?"

Greg simply shook his head. "Not a clue." he answered. "He just called me and told me to meet you here since he needed reinforcements. He should get soon down from there, though. He's making himself an easy target like that." John followed Lestrade's gaze up to 221B's window where he could find the very familiar silhouette of a man reading a book. They were dealing with a sniper and Sherlock had already acknowledged the dangers of waiting in the flat. Why the hell he'd sit in the bloody window?

Before he had time to think further, both of their phones received texts. From Sherlock.

_Come inside. Something unexpected._  
_SH_

John rolled his eyes and stepped on the road. Before he could walk any longer, he got another text.

_No.  
SH_

To the empty flat, did you not listen?  
SH

You are in 221B. -JW

That's not me. It's a bait. Now get up here!  
SH

John turned around and walked to the unlocked door. He was greeted with a dusty hall and in the other end he could see Sherlock, who had obviously found time to dye his natural hair colour back.

"Why you didn't you take anyone with you?" Sherlock asked. Lestrade sighed.

"I got fired in a week after your suicide." Lestrade had been in horrible condition for the next months, practically drinking himself to death.

"I only have John's old army gun with me."

"Oh, how _wonderful..._" Sherlock murmured before walking to the staircase.

"Follow me, try to keep quiet, don't interrupt me if I'm thinking. We might have a long wait ahead of us."

We didn't.

Almost the second they sat down in the pitch-black room where you could see the flat, they heard the door creak. Sherlock grinned viciously.

"_He's here._"


	3. Moran

John, Sherlock and Lestrade froze in their places to listen to the footsteps coming up the stairs. When the man came to door, Sherlock pulled them into the shadows. The only light in the room was coming out of the small window but it was not nearly enough to light the whole room and the men could just barely see one another. The door opened and a small figure stepped inside.

Moran had lost a lot of weight since military, John noted. Though, he could've just remember him bigger. The person who dropped his bag was also shorter than he remembered. The silhouette crouched and opened his bag. John breathed as silently as he could. Sebastian started to compile his gun, piece by piece and John realized how great the sports bag disguise was. Moran dropped the silencer once, put it back on and loaded it.

An air gun. How clever.

He landed the barrel on the open window and was ready to aim. Simultaneously Sherlock took his gun from his pocket and gestured Lestrade to do the same. Sherlock stood up.

Just as Sebastian was ready to fire, Sherlock took the safety off with a loud click that drew Sebastian's attention.  
And at that very second John realized what was off.

"Sherlock, _don't_!" he yelled and knocked Sherlock over. "Lestrade, switch on the lights!" Lestrade found the light switch and now everyone saw what John had seen a second ago.

The person who had been behind the gun and who was now standing in Lestrade's grip for trying to run away was not Colonel Sebastian Moran.

_She_ was a 16-year-old _girl_.

"Well, this just got interesting." Sherlock said, getting up and pointing the gun at her. "Now, you're coming with us."

John and Lestrade followed Sherlock's lead and guided the now trembling girl inside 221B. It seemed weird, as if she wasn't afraid of the guns in our hands but something or someone outside the situation. Sherlock seated the girl to John's old armchair and went to the window. Now they could all see the 'bait' Sherlock had been using as a body double.

John had presumed that it was a doll of some kind but when his face was visible it was revealed to be an actual human being. Dead, but a human still. Dark curls, slim figure and cheekbones that looked like they could cut flesh, the man could be easily assumed as Sherlock, especially from that far. His body was in good shape and the only thing that was telling that he wasn't just passed out was the three bullet holes in his forehead.

"Who is he?" John asked.

"His name is Matthews, he's a part of the reason of why I had to jump from the St. Bart's rooftop. He was one of the three gunmen Moriarty had hired to kill you two and Mrs. Hudson if I wouldn't jump." Sherlock answered while he casually pushed the body off his chair to the floor and pulled his chair back to its place. He pointed the gun back to the girl.

"A 16-year-old girl tries to shoot a detective who has been informed dead three years ago. The girl also just happens to know how to use a gun and just happens to appear on the place where a professional assassin should be standing. I highly suspect that was just a funny coincide." Sherlock said glaring at the girl. There was not a single sign of mercy or understanding in his voice. He saw there someone who had just tried to kill him, not a scared little girl like John and Lestrade. John didn't know what to think about it.

The girl didn't answer and her trembling was getting worse. John felt his doctor's instincts kicking in.

"Sherlock, she might be going to shock."

"Does it matter?"

John stared at him. "She's sixteen! She's a bloody child!"

"You can leave us if you want to. At the moment, she is our best lead to Moran and I need everything she knows, no matter what." Sherlock said coldly. John quickly glanced the dead man on the floor and it the occurred to him that Sherlock had probably treated him the same way for same reasons.

"You are going to kill her."

"If she doesn't soon become co-operative or otherwise useful, yes."

"I'll answer your questions." a fragile voice said. All three turned to watch at the girl who had finally began to speak. Sherlock grinned like a bloody Cheshire cat.

"Why were you there?" Sherlock asked without a single hesitation.

"I came to kill you. For the sake of James Moriarty." she answered with odd pride in her voice. Did Moriarty have _children_ to kill for him?

"I know _what_ you did. I want to know _why_. Why you took Moran's place?"

"He doesn't know I was there. Well, didn't."

"Why?" asked Lestrade, who had been quiet for the entire time.

"I didn't want him to come." the girl said surprisingly cocky. She was still trembling but she managed to keep his voice steady. Sherlock clicked the safety off. "He's too important to m-!" she cut off her own speech and looked like she had said too much. And so did Sherlock.

"Aahaha! Yes! Brilliant! This is good!" he jumped form the armchair dropping the loaded gun to John. He run to the bookshelf and took a thick folder out. He took the gun back and dropped the folder to John's lap. It was labelled 'S. Moran'.

"Open the section 'private life' and find the name Tara Gissel. It was Gissel, wasn't it" he asked the girl who simply nodded looking defeated.

"Tara Gissel, deceased in 2005, used to date with Colonel Moran before the revealing of his work with terrorists. Had one daughter (born in 1998, named Alexandra Gissel) who was never found after the death of her mother. Unimportant." John read out.

"2005." Sherlock repeated. "Is that when they took you? You were just seven years old, they had enough time to train you suitable for their needs." Both John's and Lestrade's eye widened.

"You think that...?" Lestrade asked.

"I am very much sure. Would you like to tell them your real name?" Sherlock asked with the mockery of the voice used to talking to children. The girl sighed and looked like she was holding back tears.

"My name, the name I've been using since I was seven, is not Alexandra Gissel. It's Alexandra Moran-Moriarty. I am the adopted daughter of Sebastian Moran and James Moriarty."

* * *

For the past days, I've been a quick updater because I've had a lot of spare time. Unfortunately I have a lot of scheduled to the few weeks ahead. Might take long before the next chapter :( Don't hang me.  
Please, review. I love getting feedback, it makes me feel noted.  
Thank you for reading!


	4. How To Save A Death?

"Moriarty has a daughter?" John chuckled. "That bloody psychopath has a daughter?"

"Well, I'm not actually his. Dad has the official custody, Father was his husband, so I practically have two dads. Had." she said with venom in her voice.

No matter how hard he tried, John couldn't see Moriarty as a parental type. On the other hand, the girl was muscular, her hair was cut rather short and she clearly knew how to use a gun. Perhaps Moriarty's idea was to make her Sebastian's follower, which had a little reason in it.

"Had, before this fucking light head forced him to shooting himself. Dad tried to soothe me by telling me that that way father had what he had wanted for so long. That it was a worthy trade. Trough these three years I slowly started to believe it and Dad began to believe that he believed it. Dad had never been so lost. Not even when he was sent off from army and didn't have a place to go. Father had always fixed it for him. And then he sacrificed himself to kill the one person he had wanted to kill for years. And then, when we're almost gotten over it, this fucking hero appears. Father died for nothing. For absolutely nothing. All because _you,_ fucking Holmes, couldn't play with the rules. He cheated. It's our job to make him pay and go. Save father. And it was my job to save Dad."

Suddenly, John felt bad for the girl. He hadn't ever thought that Moriarty might have someone he loved. Let alone a child. He understood Alexandra's anger. He tried to think what it would've been like if Moriarty had been revealed to be alive before Sherlock returned. But Moriarty had been a bad person. He had killed innocent people for amusement. He had strapped him to Semtex just to impress Sherlock. He had killed an 11-year-old for laughing at him when he was a child. He deserved to die. But John couldn't force himself to fully think that Alexandra deserved. She did try to kill Sherlock just half an hour ago but she was doing it to save her parents. And she was just 16 after all.

"Alexandra is a long name. How your parents call you?" Sherlock asked and John woke from his thoughts. Sherlock typing a text message but it wasn't his own phone. The iPhone cover suggested that it was Alexandra's. John got alarmed.

"Alexis. Father made a nickname out of my nickname and called me Lexi. Why?" she answered.

"Oh, nothing. Just informing your 'Dad' on the flat in the other side of the street that he might want to keep his bullets in." he said, turning his head to the window.

"We should call the police." Lestrade said. John couldn't miss the sad undertone his voice had.

"He'll be out of here before those idiots appear. We're going to use Alexandra to get the upper hand." Sherlock said with a frighteningly genuine smile.

"Yeah, right, as if he'd come after I screw up his plan."

"I say he does." Sherlock held out the phone still grinning.

_Alexandra:_  
_Tsk, tsk, Sebastian. As a caring parent you are,  
I'm sure you don't __start shooting anywhere near  
your dear Alexis.  
__Not especially if every single person around her_  
_is armed._  
_SH_

_Dad:_  
_Touch her and you are dead._

_Dad:_  
_I'll kill John too if she's harmed._

_Dad:_  
_What do you want?_

_Dad:_  
_Name your price._

"I'd say he's very willing to give whatever we want for his little _princess_," Sherlock said mockingly.

"We are not kidnapping her." Lestrade stated. John noticed that Alexis's trembling had stopped and she was looking at their direction but her eyes didn't seem to focus on anything.

"Do you have a _better_ idea?" Sherlock angered.

"We're taking her to hospital." Sherlock and Lestrade turned looking to John who was holding the unconscious Alexandra in his arms.


	5. A Few Steps Back

By the time John got out from the doctor's interrogation of Alexandra's identity without getting an actual response, Sherlock had already left the hospital. Lestrade gave the doctor his phone number to contact in case of problems or if something new appeared. Alexandra had simply been worn out from the events of the night and dehydration. John held the door open for Lestrade as they walked to the cool night air. John looked up the building and felt a spike of sadness rush trough him. He remembered the last phone call, Sherlock's words and Sherlock jumping over the edge... Those few minutes Sherlock had sounded so very... _human_. Far from the sosiopath he was dealing with now.

"What happened to him?" John thought aloud still keeping his eyes on the side of the building. _That's what people do, don't they? Leave a note?_ Lestrade looked at him.

"You mean Sherlock?" John nodded. "I don't think anything particularly _happened_ to him. He just went a few steps back." John gave him a questioning glance and Lestrade sighed.

"I don't think I ever talked to you about how he was when I found him... nine years ago?" They slowly started walking not really sure where and it was Lestrade's turn to look up the sky. "He was standing on a crime scene, screaming what all had been wrong in our conclusion of what had happened there. He was right, of course, I later found out but no one could take him seriously because he was high as a kite and yelling insults at the officers. I needed to drop him to a cell and on our way there he did his observations and told me the state of my marriage, the hobby of my oldest son and how I liked my damn _coffee_. I spent the night thinking how on Earth he could see all that".

"Next morning I returned, found out that someone had already bailed him out. After that, he started to appear on each and every crime scene. We started listening to each other and he limited his insults to only to the officers who tried to compete with him. Like Anderson. He started slowly understanding human emotions and traumas but he just simply didn't bother respecting them when he thought he didn't need to. He thought that only thing that mattered was the result. Then you came to the picture. I still don't understand_ how_ you did it, but you changed him. And I think that after his so-called suicide he... what was the word he used?... _deleted_ everything you and I had taught to him to keep his mind objective. He's back in the state where I met him, just without the drugs."

John had stayed quiet through the entire story. He had never actually thought that much how Sherlock had turned to the man he knew (used to know?). He finally realized the depth of Sherlock's and Lestrade's relationship and understood Sherlock's odd behaviour.

"Do you think he can, you know, _fix_ himself?" John asked and noted that they were on Baker Street already.

"Well, it took five years from me and a year from you to make him feel empathy for his friends. To make him have friends, for start. I really don't believe it will be easy. It might be that he had decided not to be a what he'd say _vulnerable_ human being. It might be possible, it might not be. You never know about him." Greg stated and stopped at 221B. "He really seems to want to use Alexandra. If he causes trouble, let me know."

"Sure."

"I'll be heading back to home. What time is it?"

"11 past 1. I really should try to get some sleep. I've got work tomorrow."

Greg nodded and waved.

John got in to 221B. He needed to talk to Sherlock before returning back to home.

"Sherlock?"

No response.

"Sherlock? Are you in here? _Sherlock_!"

No response.

John looked trough the flat but couldn't see a sign of the man anywhere. Everything was the way they were when they had to leave to the hospital. Only...

Sherlock and John had both left their guns on the desk. Now there was only one.

John heard footsteps coming up the stairs and he saw Mrs. Hudson walking through the door.

"Is Sherlock here?" he immediately asked.

"I'm afraid he's not, darling. He came here and hour ago, took something from upstairs and left as quickly as he arrived. Is he in trouble?" she told.

"Oh god..." John swore and pulled his phone out of his pocket which started ringing instantly. It was Greg.

"John, the doctor Gilb-something just called. Alexandra is missing."

"Greg, come and pick me up. We're going to St. Bart's."

"What, why?"

"Sherlock and his gun are missing too."


	6. St Bart's rooftop

Lestrade pulled in his car in front of St. Bart's hospital and John run trough the doors, Lestrade close behind him. He had seen the unmistakeable figure of Sherlock from far, sitting on the edge of John's so much feared rooftop. He used every short cut he knew, running trough the labs and staffs' rooms accidentally leaving Greg behind him. Well, he knows where to head. He finally got to the stairs that led to the roof and made the stupid decision to run them instead of taking a lift. He'd be exhausted on the rooftop but he just didn't have the patience to wait for it to arrive.

Second floor.

Third floor.

Fourth.

The roof.

He rushed almost literally trough the door and three pairs of eyes focused on him. He had not come a minute too early.

Sherlock was still sitting on the edge, Alexandra standing next him, sobbing and looking terrible similar to Moriarty's human bombs. The third pair of eyes belong to a blonde-haired man standing a few feet from Alexis who had turned around to see the intruder.

The man had more scars his face than John thought anyone could count and his eyes were piercing blue. The man was heavily built and his toned muscles were visible trough the green sleeveless shirt he was wearing. The dog tags hanging in his neck, camouflage-coloured trousers and army boots gave John the last confirmation of the man identity.

Sebastian Moran pointed his gun towards John. "If you kill her, I'll kill him."

John pointed his own gun to Sebastian just as Lestrade appeared on the doorway also aiming at Sebastian. Lestrade didn't have a gun, of course, it had been taken away from him when he was fired. The object he was holding was Sherlock's pistol-looking lighter he had gotten somewhere, but Moran couldn't know it. Moran aimed his gun back to Sherlock.

"I could just kill you. You'd have no time to aim the gun to shoot her fatally."

"You'd be dead the second you fire." John answered, walking away from the line to break the Y-figure, turning it to a weird X. Moran admitted his defeat and dropped the gun.

"And do you really wan to take the risk that I might hit her? Gamble with her life? Not to mention that my company will kill her if I don't." Sherlock answered, keeping his eyes on Moran.

"No!" Lestrade and John yelled simultaneously. Sherlock angered in second.

"We are not going to hold a _child_ as a hostage!" John answered before Sherlock got a word to say.

"She tried to kill me. He threatened your life at the pool. Both of our lives. Now, explain to me again, why can't we turn the tables? Moran and Moriarty used the person I care the most to get me, _twice_. Why can't we do what they did?" Sherlock spoke calmly even when the anger in him was still visible.

Because we're not like them, John wanted to say but he didn't know if he was lying.

"Sherlock, for _god's sake_, you're going to be arrested soon for a kidnap! Just as your brother managed to clean your name! You're really that eager for prison?" yelled out Lestrade. Moran, even when standing exactly on everyone's fire line seemed to gain confidence. John stepped between Sherlock and Moran.

"Try to think _objectively_!" Sherlock burst out with the voice he used when he was dealing with complete idiocy and John was recalled with Moriarty's _"That's what people DO!_". John realized that he had just equalled Moriarty's actions to Sherlock's and couldn't let the thought go no matter how much he wanted to.

"We are dealing with two trained assassins, both tried to kill at least one of us. They made their decision. Now they pay for it." Sherlock continued and shoved Alexandra to the ground, aiming the gun down to the back of her head. Alexandra looked up to his father. Moran ran to her daughter and crouched down.

"I am so sorry, Dad."

He took the crying girl in his arms and kept telling her that it was alright and that he was there and that he loved her. Moran pressed his hand on Alexandra hair and looked at Sherlock with defiant eyes. He knew what was to come and a tear fell down from the corner of his eye.

John realized there was no peaceful way out.

Sherlock clicked the safety off and wrapped his long finger around the trigger.

Forgive me, Sherlock.

_Bang!_


	7. When The Dust Has Fallen

The first thing Sherlock felt when waking up was a throbbing pain on his right shoulder. Bullet wound, not yet three hours old, the shot had hit his upper shoulder, only leaving a deep scratch. It had been stitched about two hours and 20 minutes ago and it would definitely leave a scar. He was at St. Bart's and the bullet wound was caused by no other than...

"..._John_..." he whispered weakly. He heard someone else's breathing near him. Sherlock heard clothes rustling. Expensive silk and thick cotton. A tap of an umbrella.

"Get lost, Mycroft." he said louder and opened his eyes to see the slightly worried look on his brother's face. "Where's John?" Mycroft sighed and looked at the tip of his umbrella.

"Gone. He helped the medics to get you here and called me. When I arrived, he had already left." Sherlock closed his eyes and gave out a desperate sigh. He fell back to the pillows and opened his eyes with a unreadable look in his eyes. "You can't exactly say that I didn't warn you." Mycroft continued, trying to avoid the eye contact. He didn't want to see his brother like this.

Sherlock couldn't cry the way normal people do. He had learned how to make tears fall later in life but they were never real. He had never in Mycroft's knowledge cried like normal people do. When Sherlock cried, the look in his eyes changed. His eyes stopped focusing and they watered but there was never tears. He looked weak like this, a lost warrior coming back home alone unharmed. He looked ashamed, he looked nostalgic and he looked lost, and this look wasn't on his face too usually. It was harmful. It was the expression he was wearing now.

_John had shot him and left. John didn't want to know whether he was alright or not. He wasn't here._

"What happened to the Morans?" Sherlock asked. He recalled trying to kill them before the gunshot. He had dropped the gun and fell back. Then his memory went black. It wasn't needed to say that they were both alive because of Sherlock failure. Because of John's betrayal. They could come any time the wanted, neither of them were accused of anything that could be proven and now, when Sherlock finally had the possibility to kill them both... "He's running free on the streets, isn't he?"

"No, a matter of fact, he isn't." Sherlock looked at his brother in surprise. "He was arrested for two attempted murders of Sherlock Holmes. Doctor Watson came up with a plan that Moran agreed to. Moran will sit in jail for the accusations and will be accused guilty for both Alexandra's attempt and the bullet John shot to you. They will create a story of Moran wanting to use Alexandra as a help and possibly a human shield to kill you up there and therefore no one will hold charges of the kidnapping of Alexandra Moran-Moriarty. The three men you had killed earlier - Matthews, Sulejmani, Dyachenko - have been cleaned up. You are a free man." Mycroft spoke. He tried to look Sherlock in the eyes to calm him. "If you want to hold charges against Dr. Watson, you may, and I will arrange it for you..."

"No." Sherlock said and tried to gesture Mycroft to leave by waving one hand somewhere towards the door. "I just need to talk with him. Will you arrange me out of here?" Mycroft was just about to refuse when Sherlock looked him straight to the eyes, making Mycroft face the sadness in him.

Soon enough, Sherlock were sitting in Mycroft's car, tapping nervously his fingers.

"What are you planning to say to him? He left you, he might not even listen." Mycroft asked. It was bad enough to see his brother like this, he didn't want him to get hurt more.

"I want to try to explain. If it will not work..."

"It won't work and you know it."

"I don't even understand why he's so mad at me? Why did he shoot me?" Sherlock said, looking away from the window. Mycroft inhaled deeply like he had a habit of doing before when he had to speak long.

"John saw Moriarty as a monster. He saw a man who kills children and innocent people to get Sherlock. He uses the weakest points to kill who he actually aimed at, you. John is a very... ordinary, by means that he will get upset just for the things mentioned; highlighted dying people. He is a man of his morals and his occupation as a doctor supports and demands empathy. You did have time to realize that he got sad or angry every time someone was seemingly dying? He wanted to prevent them, the doctor in him tells to prevent them.

Then you came back, and even I noticed that you had changed trough the three years. You want revenge, you want to make sure none of the men who threatened John will never do it again. It turned to a want to kill them and make them suffer and three years of that without keeping a connection to John or anyone who has earlier forced you to respect human lives changed you to something that weeps extremely close between a sosiopath and a psychopath. You did want to protect him, yes, but you changed it to something different. You kidnapped a teen to get Moran. You did the exactly same actions as Moriarty. I am not wondering why John decided that trying to cure you was worth your shoulder." Mycroft took a deep breath and looked at his brother's confused eyes. "He sees you as Moriarty now. We are here, if you still want to try to convince to think otherwise." and with that Anthea opened Sherlock's side door.

Sherlock was already stepping out of the car when Mycroft grabbed his arm with the handle of his umbrella.

"I don't want you to get hurt again. He will not listen. Please, sit down and delete him. You will save yourself from a lot."


End file.
